


A Blank Canvas

by DeyaniraSan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Soulmate AU, Viktuuri Established Relationship, Viktuuri Proud Parents, Viktuuri is also not the main focus of this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:25:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaniraSan/pseuds/DeyaniraSan
Summary: Soulmate AU where everything you write appears on the skin of your soulmate. For Yuri Plisetsky that had never been the case.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Before anything else I wanted to say this was inspired by kaizuka's viktuuri fic Unwritten. Actually this whole thing was inspired by one single line in the last chapter of that fic. 
> 
> This story will both parallel and continue her AU focusing on Yuri Plisetsky, but you don't need to have read it before reading my story. Though for anyone out there that hasn't read it.... DO IT. It's amazing. There will be just some mentions of viktuuri being in an established relationship (but that is canon already anyway), and how Yuri was the first to realise their relationship in this AU. This story will also focus just a bit on Yuri's past because I absolutely love him and I want him to have more of a backstory. Without further ado...

Yuri was 3 when he fell in love with the ice. Not that he hadn’t been skating even before that – in a small town north of Moscow entertainment options where limited after all – but it was then that he realised he was unquestionably in love with skating. He had barely made a spin on the ice of the frozen pond, his legs wobbly and unsure, though he had somehow managed not to fall, before turning towards his grandfather who was watching him from the side with a proud smile. The feeling of gliding over ice, of letting his body communicate with it to create a push and pull made a three year old Yuri to constantly don an old pair of skating blades that were far too big for his feet, and come to practice until his cheeks were rosy and hurting from the cold, every breath of winter air coating his lungs with frozen air. Yet, despite the cold he returned each and every day, passion slowly turning into addiction, his obsessive love morphing into purple bruises adorning his small body after each daring failure.

“Maybe you should stop skating,” his mother would say, shaking her head the moment he came home with a new, nasty bruise caused by a particularly bad fall. Each time Yuri heard that, a nasty pit opened in his chest, anger and hopelessness boiling under the surface of skin at the idea of giving up on the exhilarating feeling of gliding over the ice.

“Let the boy live,” his grandpa would intervene then before any of those boiling feelings would surface. “If he is having fun why not let him? His skating is not up to par right now, but he is definitely getting better, no?” he would then direct to Yuri with a lopsided smile, his hand coming up to ruffle his hair, making Yuri beam at the praise and temporally forget about his anger.

“It is dangerous,” his mother would argue through pursed lips. That argument would sometimes make Yuri pause. Later, in the darkness of night, as the wind howled outside through piles of snow, he would sit on his side to avoid leaning on a particularly sore spot, and think about how dangerous skating really was. Indeed, he knew how badly it hurt each time he fell on ice, a pang of suffocating pain paralysing his body at the contact with the cold and hard surface, and sometimes he even felt like he couldn’t get up after a particularly painful fall. Yet, despite all that, when he would finally do something right, when he got the hang off of the _feeling_ of skating, and his blades would create creases on ice just right, it seemed to Yuri that he was close to flying, that he was weightless. That feeling of invincibility was everything, and small Yuri would slowly clench his fists, green eyes brimming with determination in the darkness of the cold room where the only sounds where the howling of the wind and the even, sleeping breaths of his grandpa. His mother was right. Skating was dangerous and it hurt, but skating was also weightlessness, a dance where his passion and fiery feelings turned into delicate movement. He wanted to control the ice so he could bring that feeling forth each time he wished for it, to make the stubborn element _his_. So Yuri decided that no matter what he would continue skating.

Needless to say, with such feelings burning inside him, Yuri paid little attention to other trivial things such as soulmates. At an age when children started questioning the universal truth of their world as they realised the existence of the concept ‘soulmates’, Yuri’s only interest was the gleaming, cold surface of the ice and the feel of the winter wind caressing his cheeks. That was a fact that did not change over the years, when in kindergarten strange, clumsy drawings would start to appear on other’s children skin making the girls blush and boys giggle. Yuri paid no attention to any of those things, his eyes rolling in mockery at the other’s excitement over something so stupid, as his skin remained a canvas of blue bruises.

The first time in his life when Yuri felt odd about his lack of soul marks, was when his mother once came from work, her eyebrows furrowed. Yuri was just entering the house, the skates that a year prior had been too small now just the right size slung over his shoulder, when she called for him.

“Yurochka, can I see your hands?” she asked.

Yuri gulped wishing his grandpa would have come get him so he wouldn’t get scolded by his mother once again for his bruises. Still, he complied showing his mother his hands. As she inspected them he couldn’t help but feel the oddness of the situation as his usually aloof mother was suddenly touching him so closely, while searching for something intently.

“There is nothing on them,” she muttered looking over his arms. Yuri scowled not understanding.

“If you’re looking for the new bruises, you must be going blind from old age because they are just right there,” he snapped impatient to go to his room.

“Don’t talk like that to your mother,” she snapped back, but released his hand nonetheless. “Say, Yura, did you ever notice anything on your hands?”

Yuri tired already of this pointless and strange conversation dropped his skates and started untying his shoes while grumbling his answer.

“What do you mean by anything? Be more specific.”

“I mean, anything,” said his mother with a tinge of impatience in her tone. “Like drawings or something similar.”

Yuri froze for a second while untying his shoes, before he continued, his moves much brisker and more deliberate having a hunch where this conversation was going.

“Do you mean soulmate marks?” he finally asked, straightening himself to look up towards her, his eyes finding hers. He still found it odd how light his features were compared to his mother’s. Besides the eye colour, he looked nothing like her with her dark hair and harsh features. At her nod of approval he snorted dismissively before moving towards his room.

“No, I did not,” he countered impertinently as to hide his uneasiness with the whole conversation. If young Yuri was good at one thing, it was to hide his insecurities under a heavy layer of anger. “They are dumb anyway, why would I care for something so useless?” he muttered. He heard his mother sigh behind him, but he was feeling too uneasy, too unnerved by the sudden topic of conversation to care about that. He had accepted that ‘soulmates’ were something that happened to other people around him, but hearing his mother talk with him by his own potential soulmate…. The uneasiness grew and for some reason, and Yuri decided did not like this topic at all.

“Who needs a soulmate anyway when you have other interesting things to do? Like skating. Soulmates are dumb. All the other kids are like blah, flower, blah, ugly drawing,” he insisted with passion as to show how _little_ he cared about the subject, when his mother did not say anything else. But for some reason he felt his words fell short, not convincing anyone, neither his mother nor himself.

For that reason he slammed the door to his room in frustration after a hurried ‘I’m hungry’, decisively ignoring every thought regarding soulmates altogether.

* * *

Yuri obsessively started thinking about soulmates. After his conversation with his mother he suddenly became more aware of his unmarked skin. Suddenly, it seemed like soulmates were somewhat important, especially since after he decided to think about something else besides skating and how amazing it would be to have the agility of a tiger when skating. He just now realised how much everyone around him was actually talking about soulmates.

All of a sudden, he observed that the lady selling vegetables at the corner shop he visited weekly with his grandfather had a habit of smiling towards her hand where he could words forming on the wrinkled skin on the back of her hand. He was made painfully aware of how other kids were writing or drawing on their skin just to have to have someone answer them. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of Yuri was intrigued by the whole idea of having someone out there made to listen to him talk endlessly about skating without being judged or misunderstood. So one day, maybe, just maybe, did Yuri get a pen and tried writing a drawing the characters for ‘hello’ – the symbols so clumsy to write for his unused hands - to the person on the other side.

No message came in return.

At first he thought that maybe the message just hadn’t been seen. So he tried again later on. And when only silence greeted him he was _definitely_ _not_ disappointed. A pit _hadn’t_ formed in his stomach when after countless messages and drawings nothing came back in return. And when Yuri’s hands were completely smudged and drawn over, he just continued sketching on every other available patch of skin, clumsy words mingling with shabby pictures, until all his skin was a canvas made out of bruises and paintings. But no answer came back, and if asked, Yuri was not scowling at his arms and legs with fury that his soulmate was so stubborn as not to answer, but because he was annoyed with how stupid everything looked. But still, the uneasiness remained present, a new, strange feeling slowly starting to crawl beneath his skin, uncomfortable, unwelcome and completely incomprehensible.

Yuri did not like it. He hated the looks the other children in kindergarten gave him when he was mindlessly drawing on his hands – which happened to be all the time as of late, until every small patch of skin was covered in blue ink – thinking about how he wanted to go home to catch the evening cartoons. He hated how they always inquired if the drawings were his or his other half’s. He hated how his cheeks would feel uncomfortably warm as the unanswered question left everyone know that his sketches were no one else’s doing besides his. So he decided the whole system was stupid, and just snapped back until he was left alone, the other children too upset or afraid to ask anymore, the coil of uncomfortable feelings rebuffing outside through the only method he knew.

Instead he put all his anger and frustration into skating, until his legs started wobbling less when making turns and spins, finally getting the hang of skating backwards. The thrill of his first spin that did not end with him falling down sent a rush of ecstasy through his veins, a happiness so pure and blinding it took his breath away.

He was still laughing about that, his drained body cushioned by the pile of snow he fell into as tiredness made his limbs numb, white breaths forming with each shaky exhale, when his grandfather came to search for him. Yuri hadn’t even realised how late it was until his grandfather’s voice boomed shattering his small bubble of pride and glee.

“Yurochka!” he boomed, his voice making Yuri jump to his feet in a frenzy. His grandfather was a kind but gruff person most of the time, but when he raised his voice Yuri knew he was in big trouble. Unfortunately, he forgot about his skates still on his feet as he did that, so before he knew it he was plummeting ahead, his face meeting cold snow as he fell forwards into the snow.

“Yurochka!” His grandfather was by his side in an instant, eyes worried but Yuri did not care as his face broke into a brilliant smile.

“Deda, you have to see this!” Yuri beamed towards his grandfather. If there was one person who could appreciate what he was doing he was sure it would be his grandfather. As he got up and glided on the ice his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion. Even so Yuri pushed and demanded from the limits of his body until he repeated the perfect, simple back spin from earlier. As he turned to see his grandfather’s reaction the grin was back on his lips, adrenaline and exaltation flowing through his veins until not even the cold, icy wind could touch him anymore.

His grandfather stood on the bank of the frozen pond, his jaw fallen and eyes bulging in shock. But before Yuri could even begin to feel self-conscious his lips curled into a grin, and in just a few second he was enveloped in a warm, tight hug, his legs leaving the ice as he was lifted into his grandpa’s arms.

“Yuri, that was amazing!” his grandpa told him, pride evident in his voice and soft eyes.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Yuri beamed at the praise, his cheeks colouring in happiness as his chest tightened with pride. “I only did it today but if I repeat it a few times I think I could do it all the time!”

His grandfather laughed as he carried both of them carefully away from the ice. Slowly, he put Yuri down before kneeling down to help him get out of his skates and change into his warm and soft boots that had been forgotten on the bank of the pond. His head shook disapprovingly at Yuri’s abandoned winter coat, but Yuri shrugged shamelessly. It was far too hard to try and skate with something so heavy on him. Making sure that Yuri was in one piece and dressed warmly, his grandfather gave him a lopsided smile ruffling his hair, before putting on his beanie he tossed away a few hours ago. And even if Yuri knew his grandfather was trying to be stern and scold him, the warm gaze and affectionate touches told him just how proud he was. And small Yuri yearned for these moments of unconditional affection, when he _knew_ exactly that he was doing something right.

“Let’s go home Yurochka. I made some pirozhki,” his grandfather added in a tender voice. “But maybe I shouldn’t give you any considering you are clearly have no regard for your health!” he added gruffly.

“Eh? What do you mean deda, you have to give me some!” Yuri stubbornly emphasised with his glaring at the prospect of being robbed of his favourite food.

“What is with this attitude?! Respect your elders, you impudent imp,” his grandfather said angrily, though he proceeded to jokingly ruffle Yuri’s beanie, making the young child yell angrily at having the garment shoved over his eyes temporally blinding him. Still, both of them were not angry or upset, the banter a common ground between them when they couldn’t express their true feelings.

Slowly, they started walking home, Yuri trying to pretend he was still angry but still sneaking his arm upwards to hold his grandfather’s bigger, gloved hand in his. The old man grumbled about his nephew’s attitude and blatant wish to get sick, but he still smiled proudly remembering just how amazing the blond child really was.

They were halfway home, walking in comfortable silence, when Yuri spoke snapping Nikolai Plisetsky out of his thoughts.

“Deda, can I ask you a question?” Yuri asked in his reluctant tone of voice he usually used when he was unsure of opening a topic of conversation but still stubbornly proceeding to talk about it. Intrigued, he hummed in approval taking in the anxious set of his nephew’s shoulders. Not many things could make his Yurochka break his habit of putting out a brave front, so the old man couldn’t help the slight tinge of worry.

“What is it, Yurochka?” he asked, his voice coming much harsher than intended. Sometimes he still had to remember there was no reason to feel slightly embarrassed by the emotional conversations his nephew needed, especially when his mother was most of the time busy working and not there for him.

Yuri stayed silent for a few more steps. In the Russian country side, snow was slowly falling down and pilling on the already white blanket always hiding the ground in winter. No sound was heard besides the squeak that accompanied their steps on snow covered ground. The air was cold, much colder after night fall, an orange lamp light casting ethereal sparkles on the glowing ground.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Yuri finally asked, his voice not much louder than a whisper. A brush of wind seemed to come out of nowhere just after, seemingly there to quickly blow the secretive words away.

Nikolai was slightly surprised by the question, though he supposed it was about the time Yuri would ask about it. He hadn’t been blind to the drawings spanning across his nephew’s arms, intricate patterns of pictures and barely readable words intermingled together. He would have preferred his daughter to have this conversation with the boy, but he supposed that wouldn’t happen soon. After all, he was a retired old man and someone had to bring an income in the household, and his daughter bravely took the role of a provider for their family. Unfortunately, time was limited for her, so as Yuri started growing older the relationship between became distant, until he knew the boy did not feel as comfortable talking to a mother he rarely saw. It didn’t help that both of them had the same hot-headed temperament, most of their interaction being loud but fond.

“Yes, I do,” he answered a few steps later. “Why do you ask?” he enquired when Yuri did not engage further. He was surprised. Yuri was not prone to being shy, preferring to dive straight ahead, not the one to deal very well with his insecurities and short comings. Even as a small child, his nephew’s ambition was an extraordinary driving force, as well as a tainted curse.

“It’s just…. That….” Yuri hesitated a moment before looking upwards towards the only paternal figure in his life, his eyes a combination of tumultuous emotions. “Does mum have a soulmate?”

Nikolai sighed, his chest clenching as he dreaded the upcoming conversation. Of course, he expected it; Yuri was after all old enough to enquire about this particular missing part of their family, even if he hadn’t until now in a silent agreement of the status quo.

“No, she doesn’t,” he confided in the end, a large sigh turning into colourless steam that quickly disappeared on the inky background of the night scenery. Somewhere far away a dog started barking disturbing the peace.

Yuri did not answer, but the he didn’t miss the way his shoulders sagged a bit, as an unsaid weight settled over them slowly. Still, so unlike him, he remained quiet, as they walked closer and closer to home.

“She fell in love with your father, which had loved her back greatly,” he continued after a pause. “But he wasn’t her soulmate. You already know about how it works; whatever you write on your skin appears on your partner’s skin in return. Still, that never stopped them from loving each other.”

“She was 16 when she first came to your babka and I telling us she did not have a soulmate. We didn’t believe her at first, thinking that maybe the right person hadn’t come along yet. Sometimes not having any marks on your skin does not mean you don’t have one, ya know? Still, it turned out she was right, but against all odds she went straight ahead and fell in love. And they had you,” he warmly added, his hand tightening just a little bit of Yuri’s.

“Then where is dad?” the little boy asked, his calm voice barely containing the repressed anger behind the words. Nikolai supposed the boy had every right to be angry and more towards a father figure he never really met.

“I think you already know he left,” he said carefully.

“Why?” Yuri raised his voice suddenly, the echo of it ringing dully in the dark night. He stopped walking as his chest heaved more than after hours of exertion, years of anger, confusion and pain intermingling in his green eyes as he demanded an answer to a question he had obsessively repeated to himself for so many years.

“Was it because of me? Was it because he didn’t like m…”

“Never say that again Yurochka,” his grandfather interrupted him, immediately dropping to his knees, his hands coming to rest on his shoulders, eyes of the same colour meeting each other. “You are a very talented, determined, ambitious and amazing child. There is absolutely no way for your father to not have loved you or be proud of you, so never think you were the one that drove him away. Sometimes adults are just selfish like that.”

“Then why?” Yuri demanded hot-headedly, his anger welcome to the sick, weak feeling coiling in his gut. His grandfather just watched him for a second, his eyes taking him in. Yuri, even if as a small child, was an imposing figure, his eyes bright with passion and words holding an edge of danger to them as he tried to demand the respect and attention of the adults in his life. A need to impress Nikolai did not necessarily approve off, followed by a drive to succeed already starting to burn a passionate fire under his skin. He could understand it very well; in that regard Yuri was just like him.

“He found his own soulmate,” he finally admitted and watched as his nephew’s eyes widened in hurt and panic for a second, before his eyebrows furrowed and his expression turned disdainful and hateful. His small fists clenched and unclenched helplessly, as the small body shook with tremors of repressed emotion.

“And he just left us. Like that,” he growled, his voice devoid of any emotion besides anger.

“Not like that. In the end your mother let him go, after they talked about it.”

“Why? Why would she do that? After they had decided they loved each other so much even without the soulmates crap!” Yuri’s controlled voice finally broke down with his distress, his yell ringing hollowly in the cold night just to be muffled by falling snowflakes. His small chest heaved from the power of his voice that reflected every ounce of confusion, anger, hatred and desperation he felt. Nikolai just watched him calmly, an expression of pitiful understanding behind his wrinkled face as he took in the anguish of his family. A gloved hand suddenly touched Yuri’s frozen cheek making him flinch at the sudden contact, as his grandfather leaned forward, his other palm still steady on his shoulder.

“Because your mother decided it wasn’t right for him not to be with that one person that was meant for him. And it is not fair, it really isn’t, but there is an undeniable pull between soulmates that makes them want to come together against all feelings and logic. Your mother knew that and decided it would have hurt more for him to stay with her.”

Yuri shook his head in confusion, his small frame trembling like a fallen leave at the mercy of the wind. He did not understand. He did not want to understand. How could had his mother avoided heartache when things already hurt this much no matter how many times he perhaps pretended everything was fine the way it was. And worst of all, in the dark treacherous recesses of his heart the new feeling bloomed, caving in into the walls of his soul. Fear took his breath away, as his mind repeated one question over and over again.

“Deda, what if I don’t have a soulmate?” he whispered, the admission leaving his lips before he could swallow it away along with any doubts. But there was no use. Yuri was just a small child; a small, worried child that faced worries he was not yet ready for. Nikolai’s heart gave a tug at the distress reflected in Yuri’s green orbs that slowly glistened with unshed tears the child fought desperately to keep in.

And the older man, even if he could not guarantee any future, in that particular winter night knew deep in his heart that the world wouldn’t be so cruel as to let this bright, shining soul alone. So he just gathered Yuri in a crushing hug, as he whispered in his ear,

“Oh, Yurochka, I am sure you have a soulmate out there.”

* * *

A year later they moved to Moscow, following his mother’s new job offer. It had not been an easy move. When they told Yuri he had opposed strongly. Moscow even though was not far, was a big city. That would mean Yuri would have to move from his casual way of life in a smaller town to living in the urban centre of Russia. That would also mean him having to give up on skating altogether as ice rinks were packed most of the time in the city, so no more practice for him. He did not react well to that.

“Yuri, stop being difficult,” his mother yelled at him over the dining table. Yuri only scowled further as his hands gripped the table tightly.

“I am not going,” he spat out, his voice determined and angry.

“You don’t really have a choice in the matter. You can’t stay back here when we move. I dealt with all the transfer papers for you to be enrolled in a more proper kindergarten and everything.”

“And I said I don’t care,” Yuri yelled, his small fist banging on the table in frustration, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest with adrenaline and emotion. He was so angry and upset over this. Of course he hadn’t been told about this move before it was inevitable. No one told him anything after all. His mother was always like this, deciding things on her own for that he had to comply to. He hated it, hated the hopeless feeling it left in its wake as he was caged in without a choice, suffocated, having his wings cut to just plummet to the cold, hard ground that reality was. It was not fair.

“And I am telling you that I won’t have where to skate there,” he yelled in response, trying to make her understand just how important this was. His mother never seemed to listen, no matter how loud his voice became. And it just made Yuri feel more hopeless and caged with every second it passed and she didn’t seem to budge on her decision.

“Oh Yuri, was this what this was all about?”

“What do you mean all what this is about! This is what everything is about!” he defended, profoundly insulted to having such an important part of his life belittled in such a way. His mother sighed deeply before shaking her head disapprovingly.

“Yuri, skating is just a past time you had here. I am sure in Moscow you’ll have plenty of other activities to choose from. You could do anything you wanted. Perhaps something less dangerous?”

“But I don’t want anything else!” Yuri heaved as his voice left him, a dull ringing resonating in his ears. His mother just stood on the other side of the kitchen leaning on the wall, her tired eyes watching him slowly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Don’t you understand what skating is to me?” he spat at her when she did not answer. He hated the look she threw his way, a look adults seemed to give children when they regarded them as especially clueless to the way the world worked. And Yuri hated it so much. Because he was small, but he was not clueless. He was not clueless of the worried look the adults in his life always had but tried to hide. He was not clueless to how tired his mother was, literally sacrificing every single second of her day that she could to work different jobs to get more money for them. He was not clueless that they did not have enough money even with all her struggles, and that he should be happy and grateful that they could afford to move to Moscow where there would be more opportunities. Yuri was just entering childhood properly, but he was by no means oblivious to the struggles of life or how much every adult that cared for him worked to try to provide a stable life style in their own way. And it was harsh, but not uncommon after all, and their life was by no means perfect, but Yuri took comfort in the little joys that he was offered because he was really not that fussy.

But skating was different. At first he had tried it out because he really did not have many alternatives. But the more he skated, the more he fell in love with it. And he was not going to lie, it was hard and many days he just spent them looking across the frozen pond as his body ached from a particular nasty fall. But he was still not ready to give up on that rush he felt when a particular good glide made his body flow over the ice, lighter than a feather, flying, flying over a kingdom of white and snow. It made him feel powerful, untouchable, a force of nature that was so fast and light that none of the worries of the real world could dare touch him.

He didn’t know how to convey all this to his mother though. He could not explain the yearning in his soul for this particular thing that singled it out from all the other activities the other children seemed to love. Not that he did not like playing with toys, that he did not argue over his favourite super hero or that he hadn’t developed this particular habit of scribbling on his arms. But skating seemed and felt different than all of them in a way that seemed to make his whole being want to fight to keep doing it. He wanted to say all of this, but there were no right words. And instead every explanation fell short and seemed to be just be taken lightly by his mother. And small Yuri did not know to control the fire burning in his veins, the passion that fuelled the very core of his soul. So instead he was angry, and came across as angry and rude because words were just too complicated, too tangled to express something so brutally honest about his being.

His mother sighed heavily as a ringing silence enveloped the kitchen after their shout out match from earlier. Small Yuri just hung his head at it all, already feeling the bitter taste of defeat on his tongue. And he hated that he was being difficult, he knew he acted bratty and he actually hated doing it because his mother did not deserve his attitude no matter how rarely he was seeing of her, but he couldn’t help it…. He just couldn’t let this go.

“I think this is enough,” his grandfather said as the silence seemed so deep that it was becoming suffocating. His deep voice seemed much too loud, making both mother and son snap their heads towards the older figure seated on one of the old chairs of their kitchen. Yuri’s cheeks seemed warmer with the silent admonishment his grandfather sent his way silently, letting him know he disapproved of his little tantrum.

“I think this problem can be easily solved though,” he continued when he was sure that mother and son were calm enough to listen to him. “Yurochka here is only upset about moving to another city because he can no longer skate, no?” As he said that he turned towards Yuri and smiled warmly, the younger boy nodding hastily at the first sign of understanding he got until then.

“Well then, the solution is simple. Yuri can go skate to an ice rink in Moscow!” he declared as it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Yuri wasn’t sure what happened much after that because everything seemed to be a dream really. The moment his grandfather uttered those words smiling lopsidedly his way like he was letting him in on a secret joke, all thoughts left his mind, suddenly feeling dizzy. He barely heard his mother protesting immediately about prices of the ice rink memberships, and how those that were open in summer where even more expensive to which his old man simply replied that then Yuri should join a professional skating club. At those words, for Yuri there was a slight ringing in his ears as his heart was doing somersaults in his chest, so powerful they seemed to constrict his throat too, the hope, so strong and clear enveloping his whole body in a fuzzy feeling.

In the end his mother seemed to give up slowly as every argument was rebuffed by his grandfather, and Yuri clenched his hands painfully to keep himself from talking, and thus, ruin everything. Though, after his mother sat herself down on another chair her head hanging down pensively, Yuri could not hold it in anymore.

“Please, mama,” he begged his voice slightly vulnerable. The woman looked up at his plea, and Yuri was struck by how much older she looked when she did not seem ready to yell at him, dark circles surrounding her eyes, her skin pale and features tired.

“Oh, Yurochka, it’s not that I don’t want you to be happy, it’s just that it’s dangerous. And the chances of you every succeeding in competitions if that will become your ambition later on are very slim. And we don’t really afford you joining a prestigious skate club…”she said tiredly, her voice more subdued than Yuri ever wanted to hear it.

“Please, mama, I don’t care about prestigious clubs or anything. I just want to skate,” he said earnestly, trying to sound calm but not being able to hold the eagerness out of his voice. His mother just sighed slowly, before shaking her head, turning to look into the eyes of her father that were so similar to her own. So similar to Yuri’s.

Later on that night when Yuri returned to his room he climbed on the high chair in front of the old wooden desk where all his pencils and crayons were sprawled out. Clumsily, he took one of them, and his fingers started drawing the form of letters he was just starting to learn.

That night Yuri fell asleep smiling while clutching a cat plush toy, barely discernible words peaking beneath his pyjamas on his forearm.

 ‘I can skate.’

**Author's Note:**

> This is me trying to comfort myself after episode 11. We do not mention that. Everyone is happy in my AU.


End file.
